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MEMORIAL 



T HE CO M M E M ORATIO N 



JUJX) 



Simpm* 



OF THE FIFTIETH BIRTH-DAY OF THEIR PASTOR, 



JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE, 



April 4, 1860. 




Cruci incumbens perpetuo virens. 



BOSTON: " 
Prentiss & Deland. Printers 
1860. 



^t> 



INTRODUCTION. 



On the twenty-fifth day of March, 1860, we learned 
from one of our brethren, that the fourth of April 
would be the fiftieth anniversary of our Pastor's birth. 
It was proposed that we should avail ourselves of the 
coming occasion to express unitedly our love for him. 
and our sense of the benefit and happiness derived by 
us from our mutual relations. There was a quick and 
glad response, and at a meeting on the twenty- seventh, 
a committee was appointed to carry into effect the 
desire of all for an appropriate commemoration. 

In compliance with the general wish that a Memorial 
of our Festival should be prepared, the following out- 
lines are now presented — the records of an evening 
which left us little to regret except the brief time for 
arrangements and the small size of the rooms, which 
made it imperative to restrict our invitations to the 
members of the congregation. 



MEMORIAL. 



There is little need of dwelling upon the decora- 
tions, which symbolized our thoughts — the portraits 
of Dr. Freeman and Dr. Chaining, in whose lives 
our Pastor was so happy as to see and learn the power 
and glory of the Gospel — the rich abundance of ex- 
quisite flowers, sent by kind friends, who thus gave 
appropriate utterance to their feelings — the fragrant 
wreaths of evergreen, and the ivy-twined cross, repre- 
sented in the vignette upon the title-page, against 
which leaned a faithful likeness of our Pastor. All 
these are doubtless photographed upon the memory; 
yet far more eloquent than all, was the manifestation 
of a common love to him, beaming from all eyes, as 
it swelled all hearts. 

Notwithstanding that the evening was chilly and 

threatening, by half-past seven the vestry was filled 
1* 



b MEMORIAL. 

with friends, buoyant with pleasurable expectation and 
deep interest, gathered to receive as guests the Pastor 
and his family. After a few minutes passed in affec- 
tionate welcome by the hosts, the following Greeting,* 
so happily expressive of our thoughts and feelings, 
kindly contributed by the friend and class-mate of 
our Pastor, Mr.* James H. Wilder, was read by 
Miss Lucy Goddard, and the interposed responses 
were sung by a quartette of our friends, with piano- 
forte accompaniment. The airs selected had a sweet 
and touching effect, as well from the charm of the 
alternations and the beauty and felicitous adaptation 
of the music to the words and spirit of the responses, 
as from the thorough appreciation and expression of 

* And here let us thank our friend for his cordial sympathy, 
which induces him to yield his final consent to allow us to print his 
" crude and very imperfect string of rhymes," as he modestly calls 
them, " written in haste, amid the distractions of other duties and 
cares, and for a single reading only." Our Memorial would indeed 
be an incomplete record without them ; and we assure him that 
however " unsatisfactory to himself" they may be, we are all greatly 
obliged to him for the very acceptable form in which he gave ex- 
pression to the feelings with which our own hearts were overflowing. 
We have cheerfully corrected the deviations from his copy which 
crept into the printed sheet of 'Responses' used at the Festival, 
They are now printed as they were written. 



M E 31 O R I A L . 7 

them by the singers. The last two were sung to the 
air of Blendon, by the whole assembly, and every 
heart was borne upward by the melody, as it swelled 
its full choral. 

Welcome, dear friends — thrice welcome, all 
Who Ve come to join our festive cheer ; 

To-night, it is no common call 
That bids our happy gathering here. 

Xo labored cheat, misnamed " surprise," 

Is here prepared for curious eyes ; 

The market basket loaded down 

Is not our sign of duty done. 

Xo common privilege is ours — 
When wisdom waits on willing ears, 

The precious fruit of mental powers 
Matured by fifty priceless years ; 

What fitting tribute can we bring ? 

How shall our hearts responsive sing ? 

[response.] Xot gifts of gold, nor gems of art, 
Xor glittering jewels' glare, 
Can speak the homage of the heart, 
Or show the love we bear. 



8 MEMORIAL. 

True — brothers, sisters — 't is not thus 
We 'd honor him to-night our guest — 

And her — Heaven's gift to him and us, 
Our sweet, wise friend — " Star of the West : " 

More worthy offering would we pay — 

No empty hearts are ours this clay. 

For that tried friend whose wealth of soul 

For us hath been so freely spent, 
Eternal treasures to unroll — 

Should "moth and rust" our hearts content? 
The fleeting pleasures of an hour 
The sole return within our power ? 

Our offering be no flitting whim, 

Betokening ties that Time might sever — 
But true to ourselves, then dear to him, 

A beauty and " a joy forever ! " 
Pledge of the love whose glimmering ' dawn ' * 
Made glad the hour when he was born — 
And now, with full effulgent ray, 
Would cheer and bless his life-long day ! 

* In allusion to the charming picture presented to Mr. Clarke on 
this occasion. 



MEMORIAL. 



[response.] If grateful hearts, if beaming eyes, 
With warm affection bright, 
If such the gems our friend might prize, 
These gifts are his to-night. 

The bended knee, the censer's flame, 

Not prince no? priest is here to claim ; 

Nor mitred lord, in jewelled vest, 

To mock the lowly, sorrowing breast ; 

No victor, crowned with crimsoned wreath, 

Demands the fawning flatterer's breath : 

Such service is not ours to give, 

Nor his such homage to receive ; 

We, cringing, kiss no tyrant rod 

Of titled saint, or demi-god ; 

We come to render tribute true, 

A loved and loving brother's due. 

The first dear buds of opening Spring, 
With fragrant incense freely given — 

Earth's living censers — sweetly swing, 
And breathe her gratitude to Heaven. 

Her earliest offering, and her best, 

The modest blossoms on her breast, 



10 MEMORIAL. 

Be such the types that humbly tell 
The joy with which our bosoms swell.* 
Pomp's gaudy show and noisy din 
Tell oft of hollow hearts within ; 
The voiceless vow the violets breathe 
Bespeaks the teeming warmth beneath. 
Let fragrant deeds our joy attest, 
Deep-rooted in the grateful breast ; 
Not lips alone — our lives no less — 
Let these our lasting love express ! 
That growth which knoweth no decay 
Mark each new year, each i dawn ' of day. 

[response.] Our incense be the fervent prayer, 
And praise the crown we wreathe, 
In garlands fresh as angels wear, 
And pure as air they breathe. 

What joy, a trusty guide to know, 
Whose life's full-fraught experience 

Hath streamed on us in ceaseless flow 
With rich and holy influence ; 

* Amid the profusion of evergreens and flowers, whose silent lan- 
guage so beautifully told the sentiments of their contributors, noue 
were more tenderly and touchingly expressive than the lowly violets. 



31 E 31 O R I A L , 11 

As if it gushed from Horeb's rock. 
Time may not drain the copious stock ; 
Enlarging as it lengthens, ever 
Wider and deeper runs the river ; 
And filled from that unfailing store, 
Our cup, indeed, is "running o'er." 

Although, "with long experience sage," 
That head shows yet no frosts of age ! 
A soul still young in holy zeal, 
A heart still warm for others' weal, 
Ready alike our joys to share, 
Or balm to wounded spirits bear — 
These yet for us their service lend, 
And blessings bring, no time can end. 

Their store of happy memories 

These fifty years have gathered up ; 
Yet cares and fears, and sorrow's tears 

Have mingled in the life-wrought cup — 
The cup the Father fills above, 
In love bestowed, received in love — 
And poured as free, our wants to meet, 
As the ointment on the Saviour's feet. 



12 MEMORIAL. 

[response.] Let all the joys the past hath known 
Still brighten o'er his road ; 
Years but increase his love to man, 
Confirm his trust in God. 

And though, on duty's wide domain, 
Our wandering shepherd sometimes stray, 

We '11 trust to win him back again, 
And gladly cry ' God speed his way ! ' 

At others' call where'er he roam, 

He 's sure to hear a ' welcome home.' 

The shepherd's voice well know the sheep y 
And snugly in his fold we '11 keep — 
Content to know that, far or near, 
His guardian eye is on us here ; 
Secure beneath that light of love, 
Which, beaming bright from heaven above r 
Perpetual day shall round us spread, 
Perpetual peace within shall shed. 

And here that joy complete we '11 prove , 
Heart bound to heart in mutual love ; 



31 E 310 RIAL. 13 

Communion with that spirit share, 
Which long hath made our peace its care. 
Oh ! God be praised, whose grace hath given 
A guide so true, to lead to Heaven ! 
Again — again — prolong the strain — 
Let all repeat the glad Amen ! 

[response.] Great Fount of Love ! from whom proceed 
All blessings men or angels need — 
On him whose birth hath been our joy, 
Father ! thy tenderest care employ ! 

Thy loving Spirit on Mm pour, 
Thy Peace be with him evermore ; 
In faith as firm as the Ages' Eock, 
God bless the shepherd and the flock ! 



After an interval spent in social conversation, the 

joyous hum of voices was stilled by the recognized 

signal, and a beautiful Trio was sung by three ladies 

of the church, and then, in a yet more profound hush 
2 



14 MEMORIAL. 

of attention, these lines were read to us by their author, 
Mrs. Julia Ward Howe. Any words of ours would 
only mar the emotions reawakened by their perusal. 
The silence which attended and followed them, is most 
fitting here also. 

A weight I bear, and a task I share, 

Of glad and generous sympathy. 
These loving hearts have all their parts, 

In the spring-song I must echo thee. 

Each eloquent soul would keep control 

Of the Poet's slender gift of words, 
As an instrument that should give consent 

To the waiting music of many birds. 

But the wings of love that bear above 7 
Shall help me to bring my burthen near ; 

And my stammering tongue, leaving half unsung f 
Can tell how we prize thee, Master dear. 

For these fifty years we thank with tears 
The tender hand that hath counted them ; 

And we thank again for those that remain 
Still veiled in God's unseen diadem. 






MEMORIAL. 15 

The roses flung, and the incense swung. 

Are for youth's bright matins and manhood's prime ; 
But the tapers are lit for the patient feet 

That follow the pensive vesper chime. 

Within thy fold, safe as of old, 

Still gather us each bright Sabbath morn ; 

Call home thy sheep, that wander and weep, 
Comfort the weary and briar-worn. 

That years a score may sweep us o'er, 
Walking yet serene the heavenward way, 

A loving band, that the Shepherd's hand 
Brings near the bounds of the brighter day. 

Till transfigured quite, in its holy light, 

We hear, still clinging close to thee : 
' Father, I come to my heavenly home, 

With the children thou hast given me.' 



16 MEMORIAL. 

Another exquisite Trio, ('Lift up thine eyes,') from 
the Oratorio of Elijah, followed, and at its close our 
brother George Wm. Bond read a letter from Eev. 
John T. Sargent, filled with fraternal sympathy, of 
which our limits allow us to give only a portion. 

To the "Church of the Disciples" 

Dear Friends : 

A very friendly and affectionate note from your 
Pastor, invites me to meet with you, at your vestry, this 
evening, in commemoration of the interesting fact that 
he is fifty years old ! and most sincerely do I regret 
that I am officially under constraint to be elsewhere. 
Being but two years the senior of your Pastor, I can 
well remember when his hair which ought now to be 
growing grey somewhat, hung all over his shoulders in 
golden ringlets. A very "promising boy," of course, 
he was, giving early forecast of his subsequent influ- 
ence as a promising Pastor. You may well suppose 
that, mingling, as we did, in the same familiar associa- 
tions from our early days, worshipping for so many 
years in the same old church of " King's Chapel," 
where his own venerable and endeared grandfather, 



MEMORIAL. 17 

James Freeman, that precious old patriarch of Unita- 
rianism, baptized us both; schooled as we were together 
in the same city ; and graduating, afterwards, from the 
same college, within two years of each other, I can 
very heartily share the fond sympathies and benedic- 
tions that are clustering around him this evening. 

Thank God he still lives and works, and is blessed 
with such a harvest of success as few others in the 
profession have realized. 

Out of the twenty Unitarian societies now existing or 
represented by pastors in this city, there are but five of 
those pastors who are professionally his seniors ; fifteen 
of those churches have changed their pastoral relations 
by death or otherwise ; and even your church has 
known something of those vicissitudes incident to 
change of place. Ritchie Hall, Amory Hall, Masonic 
Temple, Freeman Place Chapel, " Williams Hall," 
•'Indiana Place," have all witnessed to the repeated 
pilgrimages and the ineradicable practical power of 
what the '-Autocrat and Professor of the Breakfast 
Table" so appropriately calls the ''Church of the Gal- 
ileans," where, in the words of that same Professor, 
••the good people seem, perhaps, a little easy with 

adi other, and meet very much as a family does for 
2* 



18 MEMORIAL. 

its devotions, not putting off their humanity in the 
least — considering it, on the whole, quite a cheerful 
matter to come together for prayer, and song, and 
good counsel from kind and wise lips." 

May this genial element of your organization, my 
friends, always abide, and so, indeed, all the other con- 
stituents of your association that make it so truly the 
"Church of the Disciples," till the kingdoms of this 
world become the kingdoms of our Lord and Saviour 
Jesus Christ. In the bonds of Christian love and 
friendship, 

I am very sincerely and respectfully yours, 

JOHN T. SAEGENT. 



The allusion in Mr. Sargent's letter called forward 
Dr. O. W. Holmes, who read to us the following 
charming tribute to his friend, classmate, and pastor of 
the " Church of the Galileans," a welcome and grateful 
impulse of his own regard. 



MEMORIAL. 19 

Here, likewise, thought and silence alone are fitting. 
We can only record our thanks to the author, and 
place his offering among our treasures for future and 
constant enjoyment. 

Who is the shepherd sent to lead 

Through pastures green, the Master's sheep ? 
What guileless " Israelite indeed" 

The folded flock may watch and keep ? 

He who with manliest spirit joins 
The heart of gentlest human mould, 

With burning light and girded loins, 
To guide the flock, or watch the fold. 

True to all Truth the world denies, 

Not tongue-tied for its gilded sin, 
Not always right in all men's eyes, 

But faithful to the light within ; 

Who asks no meed of earthly fame, 
Who knows no earthly master's call, 

Who hopes for man, through guilt and shame, 
Still answering, " God is over all ; " 



20 MEMORIAL. 

Who makes another's grief his own, 
Whose smile lends joy a double cheer ; 

Where lives the saint, if such be known ? — 
Speak softly — such an one is here ! * 

faithful shepherd ! thou hast borne 
The heat and burden of the day ; 

Yet, o'er thee, bright with beams unshorn, 
The sun still shows thine onward way. 

To thee our fragrant love we bring, 
In buds that April half displays, 

Sweet first-born angels of the spring, 
Caught in their opening hymn of praise. 

What though our faltering accents fail, 
Our captives know their message well, 

Our words unbreathed their lips exhale, 
And sigh more love than ours can tell. 

* Here the poet laid his hand playfully on Mr. C.'s shoulder. 



MEMORIAL. 21 

The hum of pleasure, which followed, was interrupted 
a summons to the cheerful supper table, where a half 
hour was pleasantly spent in social communion. 

On returning to the other apartment, all eyes were 
attracted to a beautiful picture, hung between the por- 
traits before mentioned, now unveiled for the first time. 
It represents Dawn in Tuscany, and was painted by 
the only sister of our Pastor, and on that account, 
as well as because he had been heard to express great 
admiration of its excellence, seemed to us a fitting 
memorial of tins occasion. i; A little history " belongs 
to this picture, which we will presently give in the 
words of the artist. 

Our Pastor and Ins family, returning from the re- 
freshment room among the last, recognized the 
picture, and supposed it had been lent us as an orna- 
ment for the evening, until he read in the eyes of his 
people that it was their gift to himself, when his wish 
to speak to us collectively, appeared to culminate, and 
he addressed us in the following words, as nearly as 
he can recollect. 

I feel very awkward just now. This is a situa- 
tion I do not quite understand. The position of a 



22 MEMORIAL. 

guest, invited by the church to a party, is an un- 
usual one for me. Excuse me if I do not know what 
to say, and if I make a very stupid reply to all your 
kindness. 

I do not see how I have deserved all this. There is 
no great merit in being fifty years old — at least, if 
there were any at first, it has become so common a 
thing that the originality of it has all gone. 

Tell me why it is that we should be sorry that we 
are growing old ? It seems conceded that we are to 
be slightly commiserated, not congratulated at being 
fifty. People say kindly that we look very young to 
be fifty years old — they think to please us by suggest- 
ing youthfulness. But why not be glad that we are 
fifty ? If to live is to think, to feel, to act, then why 
not be glad that we have thought much and done 
much ? 

If we gain something of experience every year, then 
why not be glad that we have garnered up fifty years 
of experience? 

I suppose one reason is, that every man's life is a 
failure. No one succeeds as he expected to succeed. 
Those whom all men admire and envy, commiserate 
themselves. An English poetess has said that one is 



MEMORIAL, 23 

depressed by praise, because it reminds us of how 
many better and greater things we have tried to do 
and failed in accomplishing. She says that when a 
hero, a poet, or a sage is applauded for any great work 
or word he inwardly sighs, because 

u His noblest deed had once another 
Of high imagination born, 
A loftier and an elder brother, 

From dear existence torn, 
Who, lost to man's approving sight, 
Has vanished in the shades of night." 

As we grow old, we are apt to look backward on the 
past which is gone, instead of forward to the future 
which is yet to come. vYe forget the things which are 
before, and look back to those behind. But the power 
of the Gospel which abolishes death, and shows us that 
death is nothing, can also abolish old age, by filling us 
with a hope never tired of looking forward, and there- 
fore full of immortal youth. You have hung on these 
walls on either side of me, the portraits of two men. 
neither of whom ever grew old. Dr. Freeman was 
kept young by his benevolent and unselfish heart, which 



24: MEMORIAL. 

held him in full sympathy with the young, the ardent, 
the active, and so made him abreast with the most ad- 
vancing wave of life, even in his seventieth year. And 
Dr. Channing was kept always young by his earnest 
faith in Progress, and interest in all that was living, as- 
piring, advancing. I thank you for hanging these two 
portraits on the walls, the features of those who have 
made my past life rich — my teachers and masters. 
I count it one of my chief blessings to have known in 
childhood Dr. Freeman ; for I saw in him the reality 
of Christianity — I saw a man really unselfish, living a 
generous life, making it his meat and drink to help and 
bless others. In him was no small self-seeking — all 
was large, pure, and noble. And so I was preserved 
from all danger of skepticism in regard to the substance 
of Christianity. All criticisms of the letter, all doubts 
concerning the history, all difficulties in the form of the 
Gospels, failed to touch for a moment the great reality 
of a divinely human life in Christ Jesus. And so, too, 
I bless God for having let me know so intimately Dr. 
Channing ; for I saw in him one whose great reputation 
was forgotten in the superior greatness of the man 
himself. The thoughts which had electrified the world, 
were but a few of the multitude of ideas which made 



MEMORIAL. 25 

the soul of this groat man luminous as the sun. And 
to him these thoughts were realities, the only realities 
which he knew. The reputation and fame they brought 
to him were nothing. Like Moses, coming down from 
the Mount, lie had been talking with God, but knew 
not himself that his face shone with such an ineffable 
glory ; for his mind was full of God, not of himself. 

As I look back on these fifty years, life seems to me 
very rich and full. I think of the companions of my 
youth, my college friends, of that dear and noble friend 
of my early days, who perished amid the ocean roar, on 
Fire Island — of the generous and kind hearts among 
whom I lived so many years in Kentucky, — of the 
friends in New York, in Pennsylvania, in Illinois, in 
Wisconsin, in Ohio, in Missouri, in half the States of 
the Union — of those who have gone to God, Henry 
Ware, Ephraim Peabody, James H. Perkins, 
George Keats, John Speed, and so many more 
whom I see in imperfect visions of the night, and 
gladly hope to see more clearly on that sacred shore 
beyond. And I think gratefully of the years passed 
in your society and service, of the perfect and un- 
changing confidence between us, of our sky for twenty 
years undimmed even by a passing cloud, of all your 



26 MEMORIAL, 

long- suffering, forbearance, and kindness. Between 
us there has always been truth — holy truth. 

Our church has not been a large, fashionable, or 
popular one, but I think it has done good. Not as 
much as we might have done, but still, some good. 
Those who have once belonged to us, usually belong to 
us wherever they are. The outward tie is very feeble, 
but the inward tie strong. We are founded on Jesus 
Christ himself, not any theory or doctrine concerning 
him, nor on any ceremony or ritual. We welcome 
among us all who desire to cooperate with us in the 
study and practice of Christianity. This basis of union 
seems to me, more and more, the truly scriptural, solid, 
broad, and deep foundation for a Christian church. 

To-night, I feel myself wholly at home. God has 
given me home within home. He gave me, in my first 
home, a mother, sister, brothers, who have been with 
me, through life, a constant source of comfort and 
strength. 

Then, around that home, He built for me another 
home of friendship, and around that, still another home, 
in this Christian Church ; so that I am very rich in 
homes. And when into the most intimate home of all, 
the solemn angel of death once entered, taking our 



MEMORIAL. 27 

first-born into an upper world, the separation, though 
painful, was softened to us by a sense of the good 
Father's love, which kept our hearts in his perfect 
peace. And your sympathy, in that hour, and in all 
our hours of trial, has been to us an unfailing support, 
for which I now can only say — God bless you all, 
dear friends, brethren and sisters — God bless you. 

[Remarks added Easter Sunday. April 8.] 

Last Wednesday evening, in the perfect arrangement 
of our Festival, you gave me a picture of the Dawn, for 
which, in my surprise, I forgot to thank you. 

A picture of the Dawn — is not that a gift more suit- 
able to the morning of life than to the turning point, 
where the sun is declining toward its setting? So I 
thought at first, but presently remembered that every 
sunset is also a sunrise — that while the sun is going 
down here, it is going up there, and that it depends 
which way you are looking, whether you see it as sun- 
set or sunrise. If I am looking backward, at the fifty 
years passed by, then it is sunset ; but if I am looking 
forward at the fifty years now beginning, then it is sun- 
rise. And such surroundings of affection, of genial 



28 MEMORIAL. 

sympathy, of insight, of foresight, awaken hope, and 
make an auroral and morning atmosphere in the heart. 
So I thank you for the sweet and beautiful gift, feeling 
it to be a symbol well belonging to this season of hope 
— when Nature, in her swelling buds, unites with man 
in Easter celebrations, declaring throughout earth, air, 
and wave, that God keeps his promise to his children, 
given them in their longings to possess life, and to pos- 
sess it more abundantly. All things are aurora to the 
hopeful soul ; all scenes, all events, all changes. Lu- 
cifer, star of the morning, bears his torch ever before 
the faithful heart. A new day is ever rushing up in 
waves of light and music from below the eastern hori- 
zon. I am not bidding farewell to the fifty years past, 
but rather welcoming the next fifty years now begin- 
ning. Let us trust that they will be better for all of 
us than the past ; and at their close, when, most of us 
shall shake hands together in the higher state, let us 
trust that we shall find ourselves still ready to look 
forward to the things before, filled with new expecta- 
tions, starting on new work, filled with new insight, 
and warmed with larger and purer love to God, and 
to all his creatures. 



MEMORIAL. 29 

Our friend and brother, John Albion Andrew, 
replied for us as follows — happily expressing in his 
unpremeditated remarks, the thoughts and feelings 
which arose from all our hearts, and trembled on our 
lips, as we listened to the words of our Pastor. 

I have been asked, brethren and sisters, to attempt 
the expression of that which is, in truth, inexpressible 
— the affectionate respect of this congregation of Dis- 
ciples of Christianity, towards him, who, as our Pastor, 
and as the guest of this festivity, is the central figure of 
our group. After the manner of my own simple and 
unpoetic phrase, let me speak from the deep conviction 
of my own mind, and the emotions of my own heart, of 
the worth of this Christian Home to us who have en- 
joyed its shelter, and of the guidance, and help, and 
consolation we have received from him, who has given 
direction to its character, and led its ministrations. I 
confess, for myself, that I do not know how I could 
over-estimate the influence of this Home of the Soul, 
on the happiness and welfare of my life. Amid all dis- 
tractions, and griefs, and bewilderments, I have seen 
the vision of this temple, and heard its calm voice and 
hopeful wisdom, encouraging, winning, teaching, and 
3* 



30 MEMORIAL. 

strengthening the love of the best goodness and the 
highest truth ; nor would I dare omit to bear my wit- 
ness to how much I have here learned of their recon- 
ciling power. 

In the haste of life, we forget the rapidity of its 
inarch ; and I suppose you will hardly realize that now 
twenty years have almost fled away, since our Pastor, 
then but three-fifths of his present age, began to preach 
to us in Ritchie Hall. Two-thirds of all the years of 
his manhood have been surrendered to this church of 
ours ; and during all the years of my own manhood, I 
have shared in its membership, and, when not absent 
from Boston, have partaken at its feasts. I thought it 
was but yesterday we began to gather in this fold, until 
just now I was reminded that a young man before me, 
now in the opening bloom of his manly age, was born 
after this church was organized, and was the first 
infant who received baptism at its altar. 

Twenty years of earnest, active, most devoted, and 
various labor here, as a preacher, pastor, writer, and 
citizen, — interrupted only by the exigencies of his own 
health, and of that of his family — have identified 
James Freeman Clarke not only with this single or- 
ganization, but also with the Unitarian body itself; with 



MEMORIAL. 31 

the ideas, progress, history, and character of liberal 
Christianity ; and when I heard him, just now, regret 
the past, passing severe judgment upon himself, as if 
he "had not attained," under-estimating what is a part 
of historv, — in view of the loftiness of Ins ideal, — I 
wished that I could but only make him feel how price- 
less is the good my own heart confesses that it owes 
to Mm, and how many there are who would join 
with me in the confession. Indeed this human life is 
all too short to allow the indulgence of vain regrets. 
And when the sense of weakness, or of guilt and sin 
overbears the weary head and heart, I can but remem- 
ber the trusting and triumphant joy of the Apostle, who 
would leave all the things which were behind, and 
press onward to those winch are before, and run with 
patience the allotted race. 

During these twenty years of our existence as a body 
of friends and learners in the Master's school, how 
many of our number have passed beyond the veil ; how 
many there are whose precious memories revisit us to- 
night, softening, tempering, and beatifying this festive 
and commemorative hour — but whose visible presence 
we may not see. And what a ministry — what a work 
is that, whose privilege and office it is, to lead with 



32 



MEMORIAL. 



gentle hand, the children of a flock, to bear witness of 
the truth in the ears, both of the willing and the per- 
verse, to soften the hard heart, to bow the stubborn 
will, to edify, to comfort, to guide immortal men, "in 
all the trials of life and in the work of duty," consoling 
bereavement and inspiring faith, and throwing the 
arches of hope and of memory over the very Jordan 
of Death. 

Let us not forget to-night to do justice to the influ- 
ence of such a ministry, for so considerable a period of 
one man's life, touching also the number and variety 
of those it has reached. Eemember how many in all 
quarters of the world there are, who, at one time and 
another, have sat side by side with us in the house of 
our worship ; and how fondly the absent are wont 
to return with hearts untravelled to this Christian 
Home. 

Nor would I forget the ample satisfactions which ac- 
company the mind, as it travels over the broader field, 
cultivated by one of a catholic spirit, and no pent-up 
sympathies. We all know how closely allied in labor, 
as in spirit, our Pastor has been with the grand move- 
ments which have signalized the history of the last 
quarter of a century. How thankful it makes the 



MEMORIAL. 33 

heart to find its human lot cast in such an age — such 
an age of freedom of thought and action ; such an 
age of hopefulness. I will not stay to lament over 
its follies, its failures, or its reverses. I see in them 
all, only the limitations of men; while through them 
all I also see "the steady gain of man." 

I desire to render due thanks and due honor to him 
who has guided and helped our thought and our activ- 
ity, that, in all the vicissitudes of twenty years, against 
all temptations, and under all allurements of tempo- 
rizing policy, he has kept this pulpit free, this church 
free, its creed as comprehensive as the formulary of 
the first Apostles ; its spirit of brotherhood as expan- 
sive as the charity of the Christian Faith. Nor had 
this been possible, save to a man who saw too wide a 
field, too great a harvest, a world too broad, and a 
humanity too precious, either for delays, for jealousies, 
or for strifes ; too much to be done, too many ways 
for doing good, too little difference in the values of 
methods, to permit the waste of strength and time in 
questioning the diversity of the manifestation of the 
same spirit. 

But this is no occasion for formality or lengthened 
speech, and my voice must no longer interrupt the 



34 MEMORIAL. 

current of more social and informal flows of thought 
and feeling. Let us remember with joy and gratitude, 
the great goodness which has brought us all to this 
day ; and let us fervently pray that He, who has kept 
our Pastor and our church, will preserve him and his 
beloved ones in happiness and health, until in the 
quiet sleep of ripe old age, he pass from the conflict 
to the crown. 



The impulse to identify ourselves with the speaker, 
and to add our voices to his own, was profound in its 
electric stir through our body — finding audible utter- 
ance from some in a " glad amen." 

A double quartette, full of grace and beauty, fol- 
lowed, and when the last tones had died away, and all 
united in singing the following hymn, (contributed by 
our friend and brother, B. P. Winslow,) the noble 
air of "America" poured forth its grand harmonies 
with a fulness and depth, well illustrating the capa- 
bilities of congregational singing, and our emotions, 



MEMORIAL. 35 

infusing their own life and power into the words, 
transfigured them into an earnest prayer for our 
Pastor, and a grateful thanksgiving to our common 
Father for the blessings of his ministrations. 

O Thou, whose blessed Son — 
His earthly mission done — 

His chosen gave 
In thy great love to wait, 
Thy grace to mediate, 
And souls in low estate 

To seek and save ; 

On tins our guide and friend 
The Comforter descend. 

Thy Spirit fill 
His heart with holy fire, 
Thy Truth Ins words inspire, 
Kindling our faint desire 

To do thy will. 

Let nought of worldly gain, 

Sharp grief or toiling brain 

Close our dull ear ; 



36 MEMORIAL. 

" But his free earnest speech " 
Grant Thou all souls to reach, 
And to the erring teach 
The Saviour near. 

For him we ask not fame, 

No world-wide — honored name, 

But thine increase ; 
And as the autumn leaves 
Fall on his gathered sheaves, 
Thou whom his faith receives 

Give him thy peace . 

So, when full years have shed 
Upon his hoary head 
The saintly sign, 
This his glad hymn shall be — 
i Father, I bring to Thee 
Those Thou hast given me — 
All, all are thine.' 



MEMORIAL. 37 

After a further interchange of congratulations at 
our happiness in being permitted thus to rejoice 
together, all slowly and reluctantly dispersed, to 
cherish the remembrance of this Festival, and, we 
trust, to develop its influence in more true and earnest 
lives — a boon and blessing precious to our Pastor 
beyond all else we can offer. 



The selection of airs for the responses in the wel- 
coming poem was so appropriate, and the effect of the 
alternations so beautiful, that we must record them 
for future use. They were as follows: "Hussitan 
Chant," "NewPatmos," " Eckhardtsheim," and "Mi- 
letus," all from Zeuner's " Ancient Lyre." 



ADDENDA. 



We add this note from one of our number as a 
pleasant expression of the feeling of our whole body. 

March 27, 1860. 
Friend Winslow : 

My engagements are such as to prevent my 
attending the meeting this evening; so I authorize 
you to vote for me, knowing as I do that you will not 
" make" Mr. Clarke "the recipient of" a gold-headed 
cane, nor a service of silver, nor an elaborately carved 
trumpet to blow on the walls of Zion — but that you 
will vote simply to give him some token of our sympa- 
thy and devoted love. 

It seems but a few days since we were talking over 
the subject of his leaving our society ; * how clearly it 

* Referring to a call received by Mr. Clarke from a neighboring 
city. 



40 ADDENDA. 

lias been shown us since, that he had work to do here, 
at home, in our church and city. If any expression 
of feeling goes with the gift selected for him, let this 
thought, I pray you, be suggested : for I, for one, 
desire to have him know how deep and sincere is our 
appreciation of his labors here, in Boston, in the great 
centre of Unitarianism. 

Very truly, yours, 

HENRY WILLIAMS. 



DAWN IN TUSCANY. 



[This little history of the charming picture is from the pen of the 
Artist.] 



It was on the sixteenth of June, at four o'clock in 

the morning, that I entered the diligence, at Rome, to 

go to Florence, by the Siena road. Summer was at 

high tide, earth and sky consented in beauty ineffable, 

and when night fell over the earth, the transparent 

darkness was welcome after the long and brilliant 

summer's day. Then from the Coupe I saw the new 

morning break, and the Italian dawn marshal its 

forces of light and shade. The light, while yet the 

earth was dark, streamed from behind a mountain, 

a million golden arrows shot up into the retreating 

darkness, and from the bosom of the mountain shadow 

flowed a river, rough with stones, which broke the 

light caught upon its reaches, and animated the low- 
4* 



42 ADDENDA. 

toned picture. I made a memorandum in my sketch- 
book of this strikingly poetical scene, and a dialogue 
held with an Italian by my side, became fixed in my 
memory, and always goes with the picture in my 
mind. He asked me later in the day, with the cu- 
riosity which belongs to travellers of all nations, 
whether I was English. 

" Signor, no, sono Americana." 

" Possibile ! " with gestures of wonder. 

" E tanto distante, dal suo paese ! " with gestures 
of more wonder. 

"E va sempre sola la Signora?" and now the 
countenance of the querist expressed curiosity, doubt, 
respect, suspicion, and fear of giving offence, wonder- 
fully mingled in a heavy face which I had thought 
particularly incapable of expression. 

" Si, perche sono artista, Signore," I replied, offer- 
ing my profession as a reason for voyaging without 
attendant, and as a guaranty of my respectability. 
"Ah! si," — said he, quite relieved, "La vidi questa 
mattina, quando Lei dipingeva PAurora." 

And thus it came to pass, that flattered by his 
phrase which described my poor scratches in the 
dark, as "painting the Aurora," I resolved really to 






ADDENDA. 43 

paint my memory of a scene which so deeply affected 
my imagination, and it gratifies me much, that the 
picture is liked and has come to preferment among 
my good friends. I began this little history of the 
picture with the intention of telling the name of the 
place represented. The name of the mountain I do 
not know — the river is probably the Ombrone, and the 
place, a spot somewhere between Radicofani, which 
I passed at midnight, and Siena, where I arrived at 
ten o'clock in the forenoon. So I named it, Dawn in 
Tuscany. 



HYMN AND PRAYER. 



To those of us familiar with the following poem, 
written by our Pastor, it came home at this time 
with the force of fulfilled prophecy ; and while it dwelt 
in the hearts of many, failed to make a part of the 
festive utterances of the evening of the 4th of April, 
only from the hurry of our arrangements. 

A friend and sister thus expresses her feeling in a 
note to one of our number. 

"The poem has been a life-long friend to me. 
Even when he (Mr. Clarke) was laboring at the 
West, and growing into a stately elm, many a flagging 
good purpose was strengthened by the determination 
never to cast a " Upas-shade " over those in my care, 
while one so favored had obtained all that he prayed 
for, and escaped all that he feared. And then what 



ADDENDA. 45 

a check upon angry correction, even of the vilest 
faults, is that vivid picture of Christ, who 

" With eyes of love looked into eyes of hate.-' 

When I begin to think what I value Mr. Clarke's 
ministry for, this poem is apt to come up first, as 
his earliest, perhaps most potent help; therefore if it 
could be printed in the notes at the end of the festival 
records, some young beginners in the Christian life 
might adopt it, as has been done by others in former 
years. 

Yours, 

LOUISA C. BOND. 

Infinite Spirit ! who art round us ever, 
In whom we float, as motes in summer sky, 

May neither life, nor death the sweet bond sever, 
Which joins us to our unseen Friend on high. 

Unseen — yet not unfelt — if any thought 
Has raised our mind from earth, or pure desire. 

Or generous act, or noble purpose brought, 
It is thy breath, O Lord, which fans the fire. 



46 ADDENDA. 

To me, the meanest of thy creatures, kneeling, 
Conscious of weakness, ignorance, sin, and shame, 

Give such a force of holy thought and feeling, 
That I may live to glorify thy name. 

That I may conquer base desire and passion, 
That I may rise o'er selfish thought and will, 

O'ercome the world's allurement, threat, and fashion, 
Walk humbly, softly, leaning on Thee still. 

I am unworthy, yet for their dear sake 
I ask, whose roots planted in me are found, 

For precious vines are propped by rudest stake, 
And heavenly roses fed in darkest ground ; 

Beneath my leaves, though early fallen and faded, 
Young plants are warmed, they drink my branches' 
dew; 

Let them not, Lord, by me be Upas-shaded ; 

Make me for their sake firm, and pure, and true. 

For their sake too, the faithful, wise, and bold, 
Whose generous love has been my pride and stay, 

Those, who have found in me some trace of gold, 
For their sake purify my lead and clay. 



ADDENDA. 47 

And let not all the pains and toil be wasted, 
Spent on my youth by saints now gone to rest, 

Nor that deep sorrow my Redeemer tasted, 
When on his soul the guilt of man was prest. 

Tender and sensitive he braved the storm, 
That we might fly a well deserved fate, 

Poured out his soul in supplication warm, 
With eyes of love looked into eyes of hate. 

Let all this goodness by my mind be seen, 
Let all this mercy on my heart be sealed, 

Lord, if thou wilt, thy power can make me clean, 
O, speak the word, — thy servant shall be healed. 



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